


Visions and Superstitons

by caprigender



Series: The adventures of Mica Lynne, Sole Survivor of Vault 111 and esteemed mayor of Trashtown Micatropolis [7]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death Kinda, Drug Use, Genderqueer Character, Multi, Other, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:48:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6307189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Other people might have thought Mama Murphy was crazy, that she was just a fucked up old addict with a problem, but Mica saw it different.</p><p>Sole survivor deals with having the Sight and all the messed up territory that comes with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions and Superstitons

**Author's Note:**

> When you die and go back to a previous save you don't just barge in without knowing what's coming.
> 
> Edit: someone pointed out that jet wasn't around before the war

The shots echoed through the back of her skull as the pain bloomed in her side. Stomach wound the sensible part of her mind whispered through the red hot haze. Won’t look anything like you’ve always imagined it. Probably fatal, but it’s gonna take a long time to kill you and it’s gonna hurt like a bitch the whole time.

Might as well just end it all.

She pushed that thought aside, fumbling through her pocket for a stimpack. She popped the top and jammed the needle into her leg, pressing the plunger down as steadily as she could. She had to stay strong. Stay alive. Piper was just ahead of her, pistol in hand and crouched behind a countertop. If she died then her cute reporter friend might be well and truly fucked. That was no good.

There was a clattering noise as something landed a few feet to her right. She glanced over. Frag grenade. Fuck. 

Her range of vision exploded in light.

\- -

Mica shuddered at the sudden unwanted vision of his own death. His fingers trembled as he felt his face for the shrapnel the logical part of his brain knew wasn’t there.

“Hey, Blue, you ok?” Piper asked and he knew that he’d been standing there in a daze for… probably about a minute at least. He nodded. It was easier than to try and explain the visions.

“Let’s not go down this way,” he said, turning away from the street they’d just started down. “I’ve got a bad feeling in my gut.” Not as bad as if you’d kept going. Haha.

Piper looked at him, a little hesitant, but bless her she didn’t push the issue. “Whatever you say, Blue.” She’d grill him for answers later. 90% of her personality was boundless curiosity. The other 10% was sarcasm. Truth be told, it was what he really liked about her. She asked about him and he was nothing if not vain and self-centered. Still, there were some aspects of himself he would rather keep under wraps as long as he could.

The general shook his head and reevaluated the map on his pip boy. If they weren’t going down that street there would be plenty of other opportunities to weave around buildings and find the raider nest they were looking for. It might also give them a chance to find a better tactical entrance. Mica popped a few gum drops in his mouth, maybe not the best choice for soothing out the jitteriness, but the nostalgia factor did wonders for his nerves. And really, he needed all the comfort he could get because he knew exactly what was happening to him and he did not particularly like it. It was the Sight.

Other people might have thought Mama Murphy was crazy, that she was just a fucked up old addict with a problem, but Mica saw it different. He’d done drugs before the war but jet was something else entirely. Besides the immediate effects, the inhalant made you see things. You’d be going about your day, business as usual and suddenly you’d get this feeling. Sometimes it was an intrusive thought. Sometimes it was like an out of body experience. Sometimes you just got very intense déjà vu. Sure, they were all after effects of the substance chilling out in your system, but Mica figured the universe had to find some way to talk to you. Why not through drugs and your own subconscious? He’d always taken those feelings and impulses to heart, trying to learn as much as he could from them and interpret their possible meanings.

Of course, before the war, any day tripping universe-visions had been much less violent. Maybe that was just a product of the time he was now living in. He’d seen some fucked up shit. Hell, he’d done some fucked up shit too. And if the jet really was showing him visions of the possible future then it made perfect sense that he’d be getting more violent death “memories” while wandering the wastelands than he did way back in sleepy suburbia.

Or maybe the violence was an inherent part of the trip and he was just unknowingly subjecting himself to random bouts of useless psychological trauma. He ignored that thought and carried on.

\- -

The world slowed to a stop around her as she saw herself die ten times all at once. Fine, so maybe her fate was sealed but she was going up the tower anyways, Sight willing or not. There were only so many times you could watch yourself beaten to death by super mutants before it started to get a little boring. She waved at Preston to stay close.

In her mind’s eye they’d gone up this elevator before and each time it was always the same. She knew where the loot was, what she was going to take and what she would save for later when she came back with Piper (the girl liked watching her pick locks and she liked to show off), and she knew where each mutant would be standing watch.

“Ok, Pres, once we get through that door there’s three super mutants up a flight of stairs. If we’re lucky they won’t see us coming but we have to be sneaky. One of them has a flamethrower.”

Preston nodded, his jaw clenched tighter than usual. He knew by now that he could trust her when she said things she had no business knowing. He’d seen the glazed over look in her eyes as she stared off into space, teeth chattering and hands trembling. He’d seen the same exact look in Mama Murphy’s eyes right before she had smiled and predicted the General’s arrival. He also knew the red plastic inhalers that clattered around in her back pack weren’t being held for sale or safe keeping. She knew it bothered him. He was worried for her safety and that felt just like a couple hundred bullets to the heart but the Sight was useful, too useful for her to give up. Even besides that, the jet made her feel in control. Her mind was racing constantly and when the world slowed down she found herself able to think straight and cope.

Still, she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, checking to make sure her gun was loaded. Whatever. She would do what she had to do to keep him alive. If he didn’t approve of her methods they could fight it out sometime when they weren’t in danger of getting burnt to a crisp. Or beaten to death. Or shot in the face. Or… ah fuck it, there would likely never be a time when their lives weren’t in immediate danger which meant that these disagreements would just have to wait forever. That was fine by her.

\- -

Just a small hit. Microdosing. Not enough for a full body trip, just enough to take the edge off, to calm the fuck down because holy shit the world was spinning out of control again and the responsibility was way too much.

He breathed in the vapors and felt the static buzzing in his spine let up ever so slightly. The overwhelming need to tear off his skin like it was some kind of confining shell almost disappeared. He was in control again.

The world was soft and gentle even with the smell of blood and shit and radiation hanging in the hot afternoon sun. The raider bodies at his feet looked less like corpses and more like abstract shapes seen through a kaleidoscope. For a moment he thought the arrangement was beautiful. He clamped a hand around a bullet wound in his arm and squeezed, letting the pain cut through the high. Don’t think like that. Don’t you dare fucking think like that. That’s some Pickman shit and you can’t fucking go there, you understand? He shuddered, suddenly feeling a little bit nauseous.

Hancock was saying something off to his right, but the sound of his voice traveled through the air like water and Mica couldn’t bring himself to focus on what he was saying. Instead he let the ghoul’s voice wash over him, soothing in its rough gravelly sound. He picked through the contents of the dead raiders’ pockets and packs, wondering if maybe Hancock could be convinced to sing with him someday. The rough smoothness of his voice mixed beautifully with the clinking of the bottle caps running through Mica’s fingers.

“Hey, you in there?” Mica startled and looked up at him with wide blown pupils. Hancock chuckled and shook his head. “You really are a light weight aren’t you?”

Mica shrugged. “Better than being desensitized. I am more than ok with spending less money to get just as fucked up.” She fished a half empty jet container out of a blood soaked backpack. “See? This thing alone could last me a couple of days of micro dosing. Just keeping everything fuzzy and buzzy and still 90% functional. Preston couldn’t even get mad at me.”

Hancock looked at him quizzically and Mica avoided his gaze. “How is the Colonel anyways?”

Mica laughed. “Gorgeous and perfect as always. Starting to think he’s way too good for someone like me, you know?” He’d meant for it to sound like a joke, flippant and lighthearted. Instead he sounded bitter, biting, and more than a little bit sarcastic. He sighed. “Yikes. Way to reveal my insecurities, am I right?”

Hancock didn’t answer. The silence stretched out long enough for Mica to notice the jet beginning to wear off. His stomach churned at the awkwardness as he fought the urge to squeeze at the still healing bullet wound on his arm. Hurting yourself solves nothing, the logical voice in his mind explained.

“Nah, I think I feel what you mean, sister.” Mica looked up but Hancock was turned away from him, digging through another abandoned pack of goodies. The anxiety was soothed once again. Mica wondered at the revelation that apparently his companion in all his self-assured swagger thought he wasn’t good enough for someone’s affections.

Everyone gets insecure sometimes, the logical part of his mind reminded him. Mica smiled to himself. Maybe the ghoul would let him be his wingman sometime. God knows he deserved something good in his life.


End file.
